The Last Picture Show
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: Directly after the events of H&H, Sam and Dean head to the job they were sidetracked from when they ran into Ruby. While cleaning out a haunted theater, they try to regain their balance and begin to pick up the pieces of their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey everyone! First of all, I've learned my lesson – this story is finished! I wanted to get it posted before the boys returned for the second half of season 4 since it picks up at the end of 4.10, Heaven & Hell, and I wanted to get it up just in case Kripke & Co. took us off in a completely different direction. I promise to post a chapter a day so it will be complete before Family Remains graces our screens. •Sigh•____ Is it Thursday yet? Hope you enjoy!_

**The Last Picture Show**

**Chapter One**

"_How I feel… inside me… I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."_

Sam's heart broke at the devastation he heard in his brother's voice. He swallowed hard, knowing Dean was right -- there was simply nothing he could say that would make this any better. His brother had been through something no human should have to endure, but he had made it back and was still just that: human. He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting back the burning tears that threatened to spill. Dean needed him strong – not an emotional basket case. While his four months of pain and desolation had almost been more than he'd been able to bear, it paled in comparison to the four months – Sam swallowed hard at the thought – _forty years_ of torture Dean had endured.

His shaking hand found its way to the back of Dean's bowed neck and he squeezed the taught muscles, before tossing the nearly empty beer bottle in his other hand to the ground and sliding off the end of the Impala's hood. Without breaking contact, he stepped around the fender, sideling up to his brother, pressing his arm firmly across Dean's shoulders.

"I know there's really nothing I can do to make this any easier for you, man." He cleared his throat, his voice a soft rumble, shaking as he tried to get control of his own emotions. "What you went through… nobody could've… nobody would've been able to handle it any better. You held out for… " he snorted a disbelieving scoff, "… a lifetime, Dean. Your lifetime. And then you did what you had to to survive. Nobody could fault you for that, least of all me." He shook his head sadly, taking a deep breath before continuing. "You have always been the strongest person I know. You still are. And what you went through, what you were forced into, it doesn't change anything. Not to me. You're my brother, my family, and whatever you had to do to hang on long enough to come back to me, I thank God you did it."

"I tortured them, Sammy." Dean didn't raise his head, but pulled his arms around himself, his voice a harsh whisper. "They made me… I became what I hunt."

"No," Sam said sharply. "They tried to break you, Dean. They used your strength and compassion against you. And it's still killing you. That means they didn't succeed." He stepped in front of his brother, both hands on his arms, and ducked his own head, trying to catch Dean's eyes. "Don't you see? You don't want to feel anything, but you do. That's because they couldn't erase who you are, Dean. You held on. You did what you were forced to do, but you never lost yourself. They couldn't take it away from you."

Dean was shaking his head slowly in denial, but he was listening and Sam pressed the advantage. "I know this isn't something your just gonna get over. Not tomorrow or in a few days or even months. And it's not gonna be easy, Dean. It's gonna eat at you and... and if you need to drown yourself in whiskey to numb the memories, I'll be right there to pick you up and drag your ass back to whatever skeevy motel room we're staying in. I promise, I'll be right there with you. I'm not gonna lose you again. But I need you to promise me one thing, too."

He waited quietly as his words made it through his brother's pain and self-loathing until the familiar green eyes slowly rose to find his. "I need you to promise me, Dean, that if it gets to be too much, before you crawl into a bottle, you'll give me a chance. Okay?" Sam waited for what seemed like an eternity before Dean took a shaky breath and gave him a slight nod. "Say it, man. Promise me."

Dean reached up and wiped a hand down his face, erasing the tears that had tracked down his cheeks but not the disdain that was obviously directed inward. "Fine," he said in a gravelly voice. "I promise. Happy?"

Sam nodded and patted both arms before letting go and taking a small step back. "Good." He took a deep breath, feeling some of the weight lift from his heart. This was only one small step on Dean's road to recovery, but if his brother would let him in – even a little – he knew they could pick up the pieces. He turned and leaned back against the fender, his shoulder brushing his brother's, the only sound Dean's tremulous breathing. He remained silent, giving the older man time to regain his composure.

Sam knew that Dean hated to appear weak – for any reason – but he was pretty sure remembering Hell was justifiable. He had been telling the truth when he said his brother was the strongest person he'd ever known. Ever since they were kids and Sam had realized the person he could always turn to was his brother, he had realized how amazing Dean was. Although only four years older, Dean had been Sam's constant his entire life. Dad had done his best, but his ever consuming quest to avenge their mother had taken so much of his energy, sometimes there just wasn't enough left for two little boys.

Ironically, now he understood exactly how John Winchester could have made the choices he did and raised them as soldiers in a war they didn't understand. He'd begun to understand what his father had been through after Jessica had died, but didn't really appreciate the absolute need for vengeance until he'd held his brother's shredded, lifeless body in his arms. Right then, he'd known exactly what had made his father into the hunter he'd become – and what had made his brother sell his soul. He didn't blame his dad – not anymore. John had been able to focus on his retribution because he'd had Dean to pick up the slack. Even when they were both too small to really understand, Dean had made it easier for their dad to do what he needed to do by making it his mission to take care of Sam. It was only after Dean had died and gone to Hell that Sam had really appreciated the scope of his brother's sacrifice.

Dean had given up his innocence in order to assure that Sam's remained. He had overlooked his own needs so many times to make sure his little brother got what he needed. Not many people were able to honestly say that they knew someone who would give up everything for them, but Sam was one of the lucky few. He knew what Dean had gone through had been for him, but he had somehow deluded himself into believing that using those damn powers to save people was in some twisted way honoring his brother. He still wasn't sure whether what he had done under Ruby's tutelage had been right or wrong, but he did know that Dean firmly believed he had to stop, so… he'd stopped.

He'd told Dean it wasn't for him or the angels or even God… it was for himself. But that was a lie. After everything, he couldn't stand to see the disappointment in his brother's eyes. He couldn't stand knowing that he was the one who'd broken his brother. If all the demons in hell couldn't do it, he'd be damned if he was going to be the one to finish the job.

Dean had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, now, thanks to Castiel, the weight was even heavier. Sam wasn't going to add to it. He would do anything he could to lighten the load. If that meant throwing back a few shots while Dean got tanked to deaden the pain and then safely dragging his inebriated brother to bed once in while, he could live with that. After Dean's heartbreaking confession, Sam was pretty sure he could live with just about any behavior his brother could throw at him.

As long as he was still there beside him, Sam could pretty much deal with anything.

"So, Dr. Phil," Dean's voice was still scratchy, but Sam could sense an undertone of hope lying just beneath the surface. He'd managed to share the burden that had been weighing him down and they were both still there. Sam could only hope his brother would let him in again when he needed to. "What now?"

Sam shrugged and crossed his arms against his chest. "We could go check out that haunting we were heading to before we ran into Ruby," he suggested, hoping that getting back to the job would give Dean a way to find his way back.

Dean nodded slowly, considering. "Winter in Illinois, huh?"

Sam snorted a laugh, looking sideways at his brother. "Why not? We're gonna make things easy now?"

"Right," Dean agreed, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "What was I thinking?"

"Come on," Sam slapped him on the shoulder and pushed himself off the fender, striding purposefully around the front of the car. "I'm driving."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but moved toward the passenger door. "Don't think I'm gonna let this whole Assertive Sammy thing go on for long, dude. I'm still the older brother." His eyes were still red, and Sam wasn't so naïve as to believe that a little caring and sharing would be able to undo the substantial damage done to his mind and soul, but Dean had finally opened up enough to let him in, and that was enough for now.

Sam gave him a smile across the top of the car as he pulled the door open. "I'm counting on it."

Snsnsnsnsns

Sam tapped his fingers in time with the music, the volume low enough so as not to disturb his brother's restless sleep. Dean had dropped off soon after they'd crossed the Ohio River from Kentucky into southern Illinois. In deference to his brother's current state and his obvious need for rest, Sam had veered north on I57, keeping the big Chevy on the smooth tarmac of the interstate instead of their usual route of county roads and two lane highways. He twisted slowly in the driver's seat, finding that the spot no longer felt comfortable to him despite the four long, lonely months the car had been in his sole possession.

Since Dean's return from the Pit, they'd shared the driving a lot more than before, but Sam had discovered he was much more content to be riding shotgun in the Impala than driving it. When Dean was gone, the car had felt too big and far too empty without his big brother's larger-than-life personality to fill it. Sam had been tempted once or twice with the rising gas prices to trade the old girl in on a smaller, less conspicuous, more economical vehicle, but had never been able to bring himself to do it.

The Impala was Dean's car. Just sitting inside the familiar leather interior had made him feel closer to his brother. There had been many nights, nightmares wracking his attempt at sleep, imagination getting the better of him, when the only way he could calm his weary soul would be to lay across the seat of the Impala, breathing in the familiar scent of leather, sweat and oil. It was home. It was…_ Dean_. Even after he'd come to accept that he couldn't save Dean from Hell, Sam had found some comfort within the confines of the Impala.

A slight movement in the corner of his eye caused him to glance over at his brother, and he grinned at the returning stare.

"You're awake," he observed, quickly hiding the relief he felt every time he saw his very much alive brother's eyes open as of late.

"And you're thinking too much," Dean responded. "Those gears in that egg-head of yours were grinding so loud I'm pretty sure you'd wake the entire state."

Sam chuckled and nodded to the radio. "Not much else to do. All I could get was country music and the farm report."

Dean shuddered and leaned forward, quickly twisting the radio dial to the off position. "Hell comes in all sorts of forms." He leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face, squinting out the side window at the bland scenery. "Where are we?"

"About twenty minutes out of Decatur," Sam responded. He glanced sideways at his brother, frowning at the dark circles still apparent under the older man's green eyes. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean answered automatically. He momentarily met the younger man's gaze, but quickly diverted his eyes when Sam's brows rose in challenge. "So," he cleared his throat uncomfortably and pushed himself up in the seat. "Tell me again about this haunted theater."

Sam hesitated, wanting to call his brother on his self-assessment, but decided to let it go for the time being. Dean had been through enough for a while, he just needed some time to get himself back to some semblance of normal – or whatever passed as normal for a Winchester. Maybe a simple haunting would do him some good, let him regain some equilibrium and give him a chance to get his feet back under him.

"The Lincoln Theater in dowtown Decatur, Illinois," he began, ignoring Dean's smirk as his voice fell into what the older hunter had dubbed 'lecture mode'. "It was originally a vaudeville theater built in the late 1800's, but burned to the ground in the '30's killing six people. The current theater was rebuilt on the ashes, but never managed to achieve the same success and closed sometime in the 70's. It was refurbished and reopened about twenty years later, but couldn't compete with the multi-screened cineplexes springing up all over the area."

"Nobody goes for quality anymore, huh?"

Sam grinned and shook his head. "The town bought the building and renovated it about five years ago, reopening it as a source for classic movies and historical cultural reference."

"Sounds boring." Dean leaned back in the seat, shifting his legs into a more comfortable position under the dash. "I bet they play all those old black and white love stories that nobody wanted to see when they were new."

"Actually," Sam drawled, knowing he was about to pique his brother's interest. "I checked on-line and starting this week, they're showing a Ben Johnson retrospective. The Last Picture Show, The Wild Bunch, Chisum, Red Dawn…"

Dean's eyes widened and he nodded, obviously pleased at the information. "The Duke, Borgnine and Swayze? My kind of line-up."

Sam laughed out loud. "You like Patrick Swayze?"

Dean frowned, giving his brother an indignant look. "I'm not gonna go out and rent Dirty Dancing or anything, but the man could kick ass on occasion. Remember Roadhouse?"

Sam shrugged in acceptance. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

Pleased to have made his point, Dean relaxed back into the seat. "So what makes you think this theater is haunted, Dr. Venkman?"

"Ever since they re-opened, there have been weird things happening; curtains opening and closing by themselves, footsteps on the staircase, voices in the balcony…"

"Normal ghosty things," Dean concluded.

"Yeah. Until about a month ago."

Dean pursed his lips and dipped his head in curiosity. "What happened a month ago?"

"A young woman who worked in the concession area was attacked after closing."

"She hurt?"

Sam shrugged "More scared than hurt. Apparently she was shoved from behind into a storeroom and locked in. Ended up trapped there until the next morning."

"Some moron playing a sick joke?" Dean suggested.

"She swears she was the only one left in the building," Sam responded. "The night manager had left a few minutes earlier and he swears there was no one else inside when he locked the doors. "

Dean shrugged, not necessarily seeing the problem. "So they have a few restless spirits who got a little out of hand. Not exactly the end of the world, Sam."

The younger hunter frowned at his brother's choice of words. "No, but the incidents have been escalating ever since. A few weeks ago, a man was pushed from the balcony and just last week the projectionist nearly lost an arm in some kind of freak accident in the booth." Sam sighed and signaled to turn onto the exit ramp toward Decatur. "I just thought we could take care of it before anyone got killed. Besides…" he shrugged again. "I thought we could both use a break."

Dean eyed his brother for a moment then grinned, snorting a soft laugh through his nose as he shook his head slowly.

"What?" Sam asked, his face showing his confusion.

"Dude, only we would consider a haunted theater a vacation."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"We need popcorn."

Sam turned his head slightly, frowning at the slouched figure of his brother in the reclining red seat next to him. They had pulled up in front of the Lincoln Theater just in time for the beginning credits of the movie Red Dawn. Dean had insisted they buy tickets and check out the theater from the inside. Of course, the older man's desire to see the action flick had nothing to do with the reports of ghostly activity they were supposed to be there to check out.

Sam had quickly reminded himself that this was the kind of thing he had missed so much while his brother had been gone. Having Dean back was more than worth sitting through some cheesy battle between teenage soldier wanna-be's and Hollywood's idea of a Russian invasion force. He couldn't help but be amused by the look of sheer delight on Dean's face as they chanted the battle cry 'Wolverines!' as the rag-tag heroes took on the bad guys.

"Dean," he leaned over to whisper, trying not to disturb the other patrons in the theater. "You've already had a box of Goobers, a Nestle Crunch and a large Coke."

Dean held up a hand, shrugging one shoulder in acknowledgement. "And now I need popcorn. Come on, Sammy, it's not a real movie experience without the popcorn."

Sam sighed and placed his own small cup of soda in the holder at the end of the armrest. "Fine. I'll get popcorn."

Dean smiled wide as the younger man rose, crouching to compress his 6'4" stature as he worked his way from their seats in the center of the row to the aisle.

"And bring back another Coke!" Dean called in a loud whisper. "And Skittles!"

Sam waved a hand in acknowledgement and hurried out of the darkened theater into the brightly lit lobby. As he approached the concession stand, and young woman turned from the popcorn machine, giving him a bright smile.

"Hi," she greeted. "Can I help you?" Her eyes lit up as he returned the smile and she leaned across the counter, her white collared shirt falling open to reveal the top edge of a red lacey undergarment.

Sam coughed, quickly pulling his eyes from the intriguing view. "Um, yeah. Hi…" he glanced at the girl's nametag then reluctantly pulled his eyes to her pretty brown ones. "Kim." He repeated the name printed on the shiny gold tag. "I'd like a large popcorn and a large Coke."

Kim nodded and turned to pull a bag from the stack next to the large popcorn popper. She quickly filled the bag, squirting butter from a decorative pump then placed in on the counter. "You're not from around here," she observed as she pulled a cup from underneath the counter and placed it under a stream of flowing cola. "I'd definitely remember you if you'd been here before."

Sam blushed and dipped his head. "Uh, no. My brother and I are just passing through. We saw the marquee and he couldn't resist…" He shrugged, giving her a lopsided grin.

"And he sent you on the popcorn run, huh?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Kind of the job of the younger brother, I guess."

She returned the laugh as she placed a lid on the now filled cup and set it next to the bag of popcorn. "I'm Kim."

Sam pointed toward her name badge. "I guessed that. I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

Sam handed her a ten and waited while she retrieved his change. "Kim, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"I read something in the paper about a guy getting hurt here a little while ago. Was that true?"

Kim's face took on a serious expression as she nodded her head. "You must mean Bob Wheeler. He's been the projectionist here since before I can remember. It was awful," she shuddered, wrapping both arms around her torso. "I guess it looked worse than it actually was, what with all the blood and everything."

"What happened?"

Kim shrugged. "Nobody is really sure. Bob couldn't really explain it. One minute he was rewinding the film at the end of the night and the next he was screaming. When Kevin and I made it upstairs to the booth, he was holding his arm, blood dripping everywhere." Her eyes widened as she returned her gaze to Sam. "I guess it took about twenty five stitches to close the gash. He's okay, but I had no idea a little reel of film could do something like that."

"So you were here when it happened?"

Kim nodded. "Yeah, and that's not the only weird thing I've seen."

Sam schooled his face into an expression of innocent curiosity. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Kim looked around then leaned forward across the counter, offering another view of the red lacey bra. "I was here one night closing up when I heard a noise coming from the storeroom behind the concession stand." She pointed to a narrow black door to the far right of the counter. "I thought Kevin, the assistant manager had come back in, but when I went to check it out there was this…" she look up at Sam hesitantly, obviously trying to decide whether to tell him what had really happened.

Sam leaned forward also, lowering his head to catch her eyes. "Kim, what happened?" he asked in a soft, comforting tone.

Kim shook her head. "I still don't really know. I mean I felt something – I know I did. Something pushed me into the room then slammed the door shut behind me. Everyone keeps telling me it was just my imagination, that I must have tripped or something but…." She looked up at Sam with wide eyes. "I know what I felt. Someone or something pushed me."

Sam nodded. "Most people would've just quit and never come back."

Kim grinned. "I need the job," she explained. "I'm a sophmore at the community college. Tuition doesn't grow on trees you know."

They were interrupted by the chiming of Sam's phone. He pulled it from his pocket, shaking his head with a grin. "My brother," he relayed as he pocketed the phone without bothering to anwer.

"Not exactly the patient type, huh?"

"Not when it comes to food," Sam agreed. "It was really nice to meet you, Kim. Maybe I'll see you around?"

Kim smiled, nodding eagerly. "I'd really like that, Sam."

Snsnsnsnsns

Sam handed off the popcorn and pop to his brother before settling down to watch the end of the battle on screen.

"Dude, what took you so long?" Dean whispered, grabbing a handful of buttery kernels and shoveling them into his mouth.

"I was having a little chat with the girl who works the concession stand." Sam whispered back. Reaching for his own handful of popcorn.

Dean chuckled, and knowing smile lifting the sides of his mouth as he wagged his eyebrows up and down. "That's my boy," he sputtered around a mouthful of kernels. "She hot?"

"Red lacey bra hot."

Dean nodded in approval. "Sammy, you dog."

"She's the same concession girl who got locked in the storeroom," Sam conceded. "Thought I could get some first hand information."

Dean turned his eyes back to the movie, but continued to nod. "Mixing business and pleasure, little brother?"

Sam pursed his lips then shrugged. "What can I say, Dean. Red. Lacey. Bra."

Dean chuckled and grabbed another handful of popcorn. "Guess I did rub off on you after all these years."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

The Winchesters sat quietly in their seats as the lights rose in the theater and the other audience members stood and began to make their way toward the aisles. Discreetly watching the other patrons as they filed out of the theater, both brothers remained slouched, feigning interest in the movie credits as they slowly rolled up the screen.

"Now what?" Sam asked as the last movie-goer disappeared through the exit.

"Now, you go chat up your new friend Lacey –"

"Kim," Sam corrected with a frown.

Dean grinned. "Dude all I heard was 'red lacey bra'. Anyway, go back and talk to... Kim… keep her busy and see if you can get a handle on who we might be dealing with here."

Sam nodded, not opposed to another conversation with the attractive concession worker. "And what are you gonna be doing while I'm doing all the work as usual?"

It was Dean's turn to frown at the insinuation, but he pulled a small EMF meter from his inside jacket pocket and switched the device on. "I'm going to be checking out the rest of the theater, Don Juan. Once we confirm we are dealing with a pissed off spirit, then we can concentrate on figuring out how to get rid of it."

Sam nodded in agreement and picked up the now empty popcorn bag, depositing it in the trash bin on his way out the door. He quickly scanned the lobby, pleased to see only a few people milling a round a roped off display in the far corner of the room across from the concession stand. Kim stood behind the counter, polishing the chrome of the butter dispenser. She looked up and gave Sam a big smile as he approached.

"Hi Sam. Don't tell me your brother needs more food?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Probably, but if he wants anything else he's on his own." He leaned his arms on the counter and leaned sideways, nodding toward the display across the room. "What's that all about?"

The area was cordoned off with dark purple velvet ropes attached to shiny gold plated posts that looked like they were bolted into the floor. The wall behind the ropes was filled with old black and white photos of what Sam assumed was the theater itself before the fire that gutted it. There were 6 different photos grouped in the center of the wall, directly below a brass plague engraved with what looked like a list of names. In the center of the area, directly below the photos, was a large, cement slab that vaguely resembled the shape of the marquee out front.

"Oh, that's the memorial to the people that died in the fire here in the 1930's," Kim explained. Her voice took on a sing-song quality as if this was something she reiterated over and over again. "When the Lincoln Theater burned, there were at least six people that they knew of who perished in the flames. The actual cause of the fire was never really identified, but they suspected arson. When they decided to rebuild the place, that chunk of concrete was all that was left of the original building. When the town bought the building, they found that down in the basement with the photos of the old theater. They decided to bring it up here and set up this memorial."

Sam nodded as she finished her narrative. "Are they sure those were the only victims?"

Kim shrugged. "I guess so. Nobody else was ever reported missing, so they figured that was it. Everyone else got out okay. It was just those six people who died, either from the smoke or the fire itself."

"Wow," Sam grinned, impressed with the girl's knowledge of the theater. "I guess you get asked that question a lot, huh?"

She returned the grin with a wide eyes nod of her head. "You'd be surprised. Good thing I'm a history major, it's all kind of interesting to me. I did a paper on the tragedy for a class last year. Did quite a bit of research on the victims. It was pretty fascinating finding out who they all were and everything."

"Sounds like it," Sam could tell she held more than a passing interest in the subject, and, he was pretty sure, he would be able to convince her to share the information. Of course, he could tell Dean it was purely for research purposes, despite the fact that spending some time getting to know this particular source of information would be a pursuit that was far from appalling. Despite the fact that he'd teased Dean about doing all the work, this was one time he really wouldn't mind taking one for the team. "I'd love to hear about it all… I mean… if you'd want to go get a cup of coffee or something."

Kim's smile widened. "Are you asking me out, Sam?"

He ducked his head, letting his eyes drift to hers through the fringe of bangs. "Are you saying yes?"

She laughed out loud. "Does anyone ever tell you no?"

Sam pushed himself off the counter, his eyes twinkling with delight. "You'd be surprised."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsn

Dean had waited until his brother disappeared through the doorway before turning and leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes as he sighed. It wasn't that he didn't understand, let alone appreciate, Sam's concern and sudden need to keep close watch on him – hell even _he_ could tell he was kind of coming apart at the seams. But ever since his moment of weakness when he'd spilled his guts about what he'd gone through in the Pit to his brother, the younger Winchester had pretty much glued himself to the older man's side, watching him for any sign that he was going to go postal.

He kind of regretted telling Sam what he'd been through in Hell. He'd made himself believe that the younger hunter would be appalled at what he'd done, at how he'd allowed himself to be broken, but he should have known better. He should have known Sam would never believe the worst of him – the kid just wasn't wired that way. No, Sam would never blame him for what he'd done. Which made it all the worse.

Dean knew what he'd done was unforgivable. He knew he'd given those evil sons-a-bitches exactly what they'd wanted. But no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, no matter how many times what he'd done flashed before his eyes, he couldn't find any way around it.

They'd broken him. That much was obvious. But maybe Sam was right… maybe Anna was right… maybe it wasn't really his fault. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard not to give in. But a person could only take so much pain, right? A man could only take so much torture before…

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing himself up from the seat. He shook his head as if to dislodge his current line of thinking and looked down at the EMF meter in his hand.

He needed to get to work. He needed to do his job. That was the only thing that had been distracting him from the torrent of memories that lurked on the fringe of his subconscious. The booze helped, but he knew Sam was going to be keeping a close eye on him from here on out. And he was probably right about the drinking. Dean remembered how scared he'd been after Mom had died when he was forced to watch Dad sink into a bottle over and over. And even Sam had relayed his own attempt to drink away the pain after Dean had… gone.

But the booze was still helping him keep the memories at bay enough so he could get through the day. He didn't really believe it had become a real problem yet, and he managed to convince himself he'd be able to keep it under control.

For now, at least.

He took a flask from another inner pocket, downing a quick swallow of the burning liquid. As the whiskey warmed his throat and belly, he forced his inner monologue into a dark corner of his mind and moved off toward the aisle, his eyes scanning the semi-darkened theater. He made his way down the aisle toward the big white screen at the front of the theater. The curtains had remained open after the feature had finished, probably due to the next movie scheduled in less than an hour.

A loud whine from the EMF caught his attention as he pointed it up toward the curtains and he squinted through the dim light for a glimpse of any kind of shadow or movement that didn't belong.

"You're not supposed to be up here."

Dean whirled around, thumbing off the EMF as he quickly stuffed it into his pocket. Schooling his face into an innocent grin, he waited while the old man made his way down the aisle, stopping a few yards past the front row of seats.

"Sorry," Dean shrugged, quickly covering with an easy lie. "I was just checking the old place out. I'm kind of an architecture buff."

The old man looked him over carefully, obviously coming to the conclusion that he meant no harm. "It's a beautiful old building," he nodded in agreement. "Not quite as majestic as her predecessor, but still a remarkable piece of construction."

"Her predecessor?" Dean asked in a curious tone, hoping he'd be able to glean some helpful information about the place from the old man. The darkness of the theater hid the man's true age, but from the stoop of his shoulders and the stiffness in his movements, Dean assumed he'd seen quite a bit of the theater's history first hand. "This isn't the original theater?"

"Oh no," the old man waved a gnarled hand. "The original Lincoln Theater burned to the ground back in the 30's. Took a few people with it." He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shaking one out and placing it between his lips. Taking a quick look around, he retrieved a tarnished silver lighter and shakily lit the end if the cigarette.

Dean grinned. "I thought it was illegal to smoke in public buildings."

The old man shrugged. "I'm an old dog. Ain't nobody even going to try to teach me new tricks." He took a few puffs from the cigarette, then waved a hand around the auditorium. "This building was built on top of the original site. The tried to copy the previous construction close as they could, but it never really did have the same feel."

Dean gave the man a genuine smile, reacting to the obvious fondness he had for the place. "You remember the original one?"

"Yep," the elderly man moved over the row of red velvet seats and lowered himself into the one on the end. "It was a beautiful, magical place. I can remember sneaking in the back every Saturday morning to watch the western serials they ran." He shook his head fondly. "Now those were movies. None of those special effects monster, hack 'em up excuses for films they show in the cinemas nowadays."

Dean chuckled, not bothering to tell the old guy that some of those monsters were pretty close to the real thing. "Every Saturday, huh? You had to have been nothing more than a little kid."

The old man shrugged, returning a deep chuckle of his own. "I'll do the math for ya, kid. I was 8 years old when the place burned down in 1937." He sighed wistfully. "It was a different time back then, son. Nobody worried about some pervert snatching their kids from the back yard. Our folks never worried about where we were or what kind of trouble we could find. They never had any cause to. Not like today."

Dean nodded grimly, the horrors of the modern world all too vivid in his mind. He redirected his attention to the old man as he continued his narrative. "There was a boy, his name was Edward. Not Ed or Eddie, always Edward. He wasn't from around here, just showed up one day when I was sneaking in. After a while, I figured out he was living here in the basement. Probably a runaway, never really knew. Just knew he liked the old westerns just as much as me. I'd sneak in and he'd always be waiting for me. Knew the ins and outs of that old place so we never got caught…."

The old man's voice trailed off as his memories filled his mind and Dean shuffled his feet, feeling sorry for the obvious loneliness of the old man. "Did Edward die in the fire?"

The old man nodded sadly. "Yes. After the fire, I never did see him again. I guess I always believed he perished like the others."

Dean jumped as his phone rang and he gave the old man an apologetic look as he pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"Hey," Sam's voice rang through clearly. "I'm gonna skip out and get a cup of coffee with Kim. I'll meet you back at the hotel in a few."

"You and Lacey have fun," Dean smiled into the phone, his voice carrying a teasing warning. "Now don't you embarrass me, Sammy. I don't want the family name tarnished."

"Like that's possible." The line went dead and Dean chuckled to himself as he returned the device to his pocket.

"You get ditched?"

Dean tilted his head, shrugging a shoulder in acknowledgement. "Sometimes, even the 'B' team gets lucky."

The old man snorted out a laugh as he pushed himself up from his seat. "Then maybe you've got time for a guided tour thru the old place?"

Dean was pretty sure his new friend was simply looking for someone to spend some time with, an opportunity to tell a few stories, to relive the good old days. Of course, Dean had nothing better to do and he found himself kind of liking the old guy. He held out a hand, which was taken in a surprisingly firm grip. "My name's Dean."

"Gabe," the old man replied, a lopsided grin on his wizened face. "Pleasure to meet ya, Dean."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Dean found himself liking Gabe more and more as the tour progressed. The old man was pretty agile for his age, and Dean found himself impressed with the way he was able to make his way through the shadowy back rooms of the theater with an ease borne of familiarity. He'd tried to check the EMF periodically, but had decided to stow the device for the time being, giving his full attention to Gabe and his narrative about the history of the old building. He figured it would be easy enough for him to come back after closing with Sam and give the place a thorough sweep, so for now, he decided to just absorb as much information as he could from his new friend.

"So did you actually know some of the people who were killed?" Dean asked. "I mean besides Edward?"

Gabe nodded, his eyes taking on a dark sadness in the dim light. "I only knew some of them by sight, you understand. But it was a small town, back then. Most everybody knew most everybody else." They had made their way back to the stage, standing just off to the side of the gigantic screen. Gabe glanced up at the balcony, a fond grin turning one side of his mouth. "I remember Jennifer McCall and Eli Robinson. They would usually sit right up there in the upper balcony. Figured nobody could see them kissing if they were up there, but…" He shrugged, his eyes traveling back to the empty rows of seats. "And Old Henry. He worked in the barbershop, sweeping up most nights. But every Saturday, you could find him sitting right there in the fourth row, munching on some penny candy he'd brought with him from the pharmacy. He wasn't as smart as some people, hell most thought he was downright slow, but he loved the movies. He'd sit there without moving, just watching with a huge grin plastered on his face."

The old man shook his head, the memories bringing a melancholy look to his eyes. "Sometimes I can still see them..."

Dean cleared his throat, not sure if the old man meant he still saw them in his memories or actually _saw_ them.

"So, um, it's like they're still here?"

Gabe turned his head and gave his young friend a long look, chuckling in a low rumble as he caught the real question in Dean's voice. "I figured you weren't just interested in the architecture." At Dean's attempt at an explanation, Gabe waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't worry, kid. I ain't gonna get mad. Hell, I figured you had some angle sticking around listening to some old coot ramble on." He eyed Dean thoughtfully, squinting as he tried to ascertain the younger man's true interest. "You some reporter or something?"

As tempting as it was to lie and let the elderly man believe he was just looking for some information, Dean found himself in the strange position of wanting to come clean with Gabe. He had no idea why it was suddenly difficult to launch into one of their well-used cons, but he really had become fond of Gabe and he believed that the old man's attachment to the place was genuine and he deserved the truth.

"Um, no. I'm not a reporter," he began hesitantly. "Actually, we – my brother Sam and me – we're kind of problem solvers in an odd… super… natural way…"

He raised his eyebrows and gave Gabe a small shrug.

"You are here about the ghosts, right?"

Dean gave a sigh of relief. "Yes. We heard about the activity and thought maybe we could do something about it before someone really got hurt."

Gabe took a moment to consider the younger man, staring at him with pensive eyes before snorting a laugh from his nose and shaking his head in amusement. "A real live Ghostbuster, huh? Kid, that's a new one on me. You any good?"

Dean returned the older man's grin. "We usually get the job done."

"Okay, then. What can I do to help?"

Dean licked his lips, dipping his head in surprise. It wasn't a normal occurrence to have someone accept what they did without any questions or reservations and he was admittedly thrown a bit off his game. "Well, you can start by telling me what you've seen. " He waved a hand around the auditorium. "The couple in the balcony, Henry in the fourth row, have you ever seen them do anything or act out of character?"

Gabe shook his head. "Nope. I've been working here most of my life in some capacity or another. I've seen these ghosts on and off for almost 50 years. They're always right where they're supposed to be. Then they just fade away like they were never there at all."

"What about the others that died?"

Gabe thought for a moment then shook his head slowly. "Nope. I've seen 'em from time to time, but they never so much as acknowledged anyone's existence – at least anyone still breathing. It's like they don't know they're dead. They're just going on about the business like they did before the fire took 'em."

A soft echo of childish laughter drifted toward them from the left.

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he glanced at Gabe. "You heard that?"

Gabe nodded, his eyes momentarily losing focus as he relived another memory. "Been hearing it a more and more lately. I always figured that was Edward. He sometimes did that when we were hiding from the ushers. Nearly got us caught a time or two, but we always managed to get away."

Dean moved toward the dim shadows to the left of the stage, coming upon a wrought iron spiral staircase that wound from the main level up into the shadows. "Where does this go?" he asked, craning his neck to see up into the darkness.

"Nowhere, really." Gabe shuffled up behind him, mimicking his stance as he too looked up the staircase. "There used to be a prop room up there when they used to have live stage shows, but that was boarded over a when the place became exclusively a movie theater. Nothing's been up there since."

Dean pulled the EMF from his pocket and switched it on, watching as the red lights flashed across the LED indicators. "Well, there seems to be something up there now," he mumbled as he pocketed the device and started up the stairs. He was halfway up when he felt the sudden drop in temperature and had only a moment's notice before he felt something lift him up and push him over the side of the railing. He heard Gabe shout his name, then felt the a sudden impact as the ground rushed up to meet him, sending him into a different -- yet sadly familiar -- kind of darkness.

snsnsnsnsnsnsn

Sam rushed sideways through the sliding doors of the Emergency room, barely giving them time to open far enough to allow space for his body. He quickly spotted the admittance desk and hurried over in three long strides, Kim running frantically to keep pace.

"Excuse me," he called to the nurse on duty, pulling her attention from the file she was studying. "My brother was just brought in here, his name's Dean –" He stopped abruptly, not sure exactly which alias his brother would have used, or if, in fact, he'd been able to use one at all.

"You must be Sammy."

Sam turned to his left, his eyes falling on the form of an old man. He stood about 5'10", although without the slightly stooped shoulder, Sam guessed he must have been close to 6' in his youth. The man had thinning, almost white hair and his face was dotted with liver spots that seem to go hand in hand with the advancement of years. The man held out a wrinkled hand, gazing at the young man with understanding eyes.

"Sam," the hunter corrected automatically. He stepped away from the desk, his larger hand engulfing the old man's.

"Of course," the man laughed as he looked up at Sam. "You certainly are a tall one. My name's Gabe. I was with your brother when he fell."

Sam's eyes widened at the information. "Fell? From what? Where?"

"Just take a breath, son. He's okay." He gave Sam a sheepish grin. "I guess I kind of panicked a bit when he hit the ground. When I couldn't wake him up right away, I called 911 and here we are. He wasn't too happy about it when he came to in the ambulance."

The fact that Dean had been awake and coherent enough to be upset was enough to abate Sam's frantic concern somewhat. "Thank you for calling me, Gabe. I appreciate you looking out for Dean. He sometimes doesn't do a real good job himself."

"That's because I have to spend so much time taking care of your clumsy ass."

Sam whirled around, a sigh of relief filtering through his nose as his brother came in to view. Sam's eyes moved from the stitched gash above Dean's left eye to the dark blue sling, which effectively secured his left arm to his torso.

"Who are you calling clumsy, man? Looks like you're the one who needs a babysitter."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It takes more than a little staircase and a cement floor to crack this head."

"But it was enough to cause one hell of a dent." The young man who had accompanied Dean through the doors of the Emergency area stepped forward and held a hand out to Sam. "I'm Dr. Trent. You must be Sam."

"Yeah," Sam took the hand and shook it firmly. "Is he okay?"

Trent turned back to his patient. "He managed to separate his shoulder but it seems to have popped back in on it's own."

Sam glanced to Dean who grinned, tilting his head in a 'you don't say' gesture.

"The joint was only slightly inflamed," the doctor continued. "We did an x-ray to determine the extent of the damage. There didn't seem to be any obvious ligament tears, so if he can keep it immobilized for a few days, it should heal up fine."

Sam nodded, knowing the injury was probably already a couple of days old, a result of their jump from the church window. It was possible Dean had re-injured the limb, but it was more likely the doctors had assessed the results of Sam's somewhat questionable first aid. "What about the dent in his head?"

Trent smiled at the glare his patient threw his brother's way. "No concussion, so he's probably right about the hard head. I'd suggest a few Tylenol if the headache persists. If you notice any nausea or he starts exhibiting any strange behavior, bring him back as soon as possible."

"Hey," Dean interrupted. "Right here, dudes."

Sam promptly ignored him. "I'm not sure I'll be able to distinguish strange behavior from normal, Doc, but I'll keep an eye on him."

The doctor nodded and held out his hand to Dean. "Then I'll leave you in your brother's capable hands."

"And I thought doctors took an oath to do no harm."

Trent laughed. "Good luck, gentlemen."

The doctor disappeared back through the treatment room doors and Sam turned to run a concerned eye over his brother. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Sammy. I've had a lot worse."

Sam noticed the slight tremor in his brother's voice and understood his meaning. Forty years in Hell kind of made a trip down a staircase look like nothing worse than a splinter.

"Yeah," Sam breathed.

"Glad you're okay, kid." Gabe approached, standing to Sam's right and giving Dean his own cursory visual exam. "You managed to scare the bejezus out of me when you went flying over the rail like that." The old man held up a hand, wiggling Dean's cell phone back and forth. "Good thing I found this next to you or we'd have had a hard time getting hold of your brother."

Dean accepted the phone and awkwardly tucked it into his front pocket. Looking past the two men, he noticed the young woman standing a few feet behind Sam for the first time. "You must be Lace—er, Kim."

The brunette stepped forward, giving him a cute little wave. "Yeah, hi. Sorry about your head," she waved a hand toward her own forehead. She looked at the sling holding his arm secure and grimaced. "Does it hurt?"

Dean waved his own hand in dismissal. "You kidding? Happens all the time. Bet you didn't expect this good of a time when you accepted Sammy's offer tonight, huh?"

Kim returned his grin. "No, I have to admit, this is one of the more original dates I've been on in a while." She glanced playfully at Sam, who had the decency to blush in apology.

"Yeah, well Sammy's always been a bit of a slow starter." Dean stepped forward between the two men and placed his free arm around the girl's shoulder. "How about we get some dinner and I'll tell you about the time…."

Sam rolled his eyes as his brother steered Kim out through the ER doors, the low rumble of his voice mixing with her giggles as they sauntered out into the night.

"Seems to me, those capable hands kind of run in the family," Gabe observed with a touch of amusement.

Sam merely sighed and moved to follow his brother. "You have no idea,"

Snsnsnsnsnsns

"Here." Sam held out three Tylenol, dropping them into his brother's outstretched palm before handing him the plastic cup of water.

"Using the good china, I see," Dean quipped as he downed the pills and gently eased himself back against the headboard.

"Only the best for my big brother," Sam replied. He dropped onto the edge of the other bed, leaned forward, elbows on thighs and took a good look at the sibling in question. "So, how are you really? You okay?"

Dean had managed to hide most of his discomfort throughout dinner and Sam was pretty sure neither Kim nor Gabe were aware of just how much pain the older hunter was in. Sam, on the other hand, could tell the moment the painkillers the doctor had administered had begun to taper off and had managed to end the evening without being too obvious about his real concern. Lucky for him, Dean wasn't exactly on top of his game or he would have definitely been called out on the whole mother hen routine.

As it was, he was able to get Dean back to the motel, propped up with every pillow in the room and settled in before the anesthetic he'd received for his shoulder had worn off completely. Of course, the fact that Dean hadn't protested Sam's hovering spoke volumes to the younger man, telling Sam that he was probably in a fair amount of pain even though he would never consciously admit to it.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean responded automatically. "Seriously, man. Just a few more bruises to add to the new collection."

Sam laughed softly. "So much for the pristine new temple, huh?" Dean returned his laugh, nodding in agreement. "So, now what? Did you get a chance to scan the place with the EMF?"

Dean shook his head against the wall very slowly. "Nah. I was with Gabe the entire time. Didn't want to freak the old guy out." He opened his eyes and gave Sam a wry grin. "Turned out, he'd pretty much already figured it out anyway."

"You told him why we were here?"

Dean shrugged with his good shoulder. "I figured he deserved the truth. I mean, he's probably the only person alive who has that kind of a connection to the original theater. And he's seen the ghosts, swears they'd never hurt anyone."

"Until now." Sam dipped his head in thought. "So the six victims all burned to death in the fire. According to Kim, there was nothing left of the bodies. So, in effect, I guess they were cremated."

"So can't salt and burn them." Dean concluded. "You think they're connected to something in the theater?"

Sam nodded thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes suddenly widening. "The rock."

Dean turned his head to face his brother, his brows furrowing in confusion. "You want to watch wrestling?"

Sam gave him a momentary look of bewilderment before standing and continuing. "No, moron. There's a big slab of concrete in the middle of the memorial they have for the victims. You must have seen it when we went through the lobby."

Dean was nodding slowly. "That roped off area with the big plague?"

"Yeah. According to Kim, that big piece of rock is part of the foundation of the original theater."

Dean's brows rose as he contemplated his brother's logic. "So you think these spirits have somehow attached themselves to the only surviving piece of the original building."

"Why not?" Sam argued. "We've come across spirits bound to weirder things. Maybe that's why they don't leave the theater. Maybe they can't. Maybe the rock is holding them there."

"Okay. I can roll with that. We can take the EMF back tonight and check it out."

Sam nodded and returned to the edge of the mattress. "But if the spirits are bound to that slab, how the hell are we gonna get rid of them. We can bust it up, but there's no guarantee that'll work. We can't exactly salt and burn concrete." He looked up at his brother. "Can we?"

Dean thought for a moment, his lips pursed as his eyes momentarily lost focus in contemplation. "Maybe we don't have to," he said softly. Suddenly he pushed himself off the pillows and swung his legs over the side of the bed opposite Sam.

"What are you doing?"

Dean leaned forward, snagging the handle of his duffle and hauling it with his right arm up into the mattress. After a few moments, he pulled the familiar leather journal from the bag and turned back toward Sam.

"Dean?"

With his good arm, Dean awkwardly pulled the strap holding the well-worn book together and began to thumb through the pages. "I have an idea," he said as he quickly scanned entry after entry. "I'm not saying it's a good one, but it might work."

Sam switched beds and took a seat beside his brother, careful not to jar the wounded shoulder. "Please tell me this plan doesn't involve baby oil, hookers or us doing something incredibly stupid."

Dean stopped his search for a moment and gave his brother a look of amusement. "No, but I can see if I can work one or two of them in."

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "Don't do me any favors, dude. Just what is this not so good idea of yours?"

Dean stopped at an entry, tapping a faded yellow piece of newsprint stapled to the page. "Well, if we can't really destroy this rock, maybe we can move it to a place where it can't do any more harm." He handed the book to Sam and pointed to the article.

"Hickory Hill?" Sam looked up at his brother in confusion. "Wasn't that some old slave house that's supposed to be haunted?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but Dad and I cleaned it out years ago while you were off playing Joe College."

Sam shook his head, trying and failing to follow his brother's train of thought. "Maybe you hit your head harder than we thought, Dean. You're not making any sense here."

The glare he received was not unexpected.

"When we cleared out the Crenshaw house at Hickory Hill, our trusty geek-boy was off playing BMOC, so I got stuck doing most of the research. Do you know why they had so many slaves in southern Illinois at that time?"

"Why?" Sam knew his brother was getting to the point, he just wished he'd hurry it up.

"To work the salt mines."

It took a moment for Sam to put the pieces together, but a slow smile spread over his face and his brother's idea finally clicked home. "You want to toss the rock into a salt mine?"

Dean tipped his head from side to side. "Sort of. The salt lick closed up over a hundred years ago, but according to what I found from the geological surveys there's still a pretty high mineral content in the area. There's even a salt spring on the bank of the Saline River a couple of hours south of here. I always remembered it because I thought it might come in handy some day." He shrugged, his eyes wide as he concluded his pitch. "I don't know, but it should be enough to keep the spirits contained for the long haul." He licked his lips and watched his brother's face, searching for any kind of reaction. "Well? What do you think?"

Sam contemplated the information, finally concluding it was better than anything he could come up with. "It just might work. But, how exactly are we going to get the rock to this salt spring?" He waved a hand at Dean's sling. "The thing's got to be a couple hundred pounds at least and you're not gonna be much help. Besides, I doubt if you're gonna let me toss it into the back seat of the Impala."

"Like you could, Clark Kent." Dean grabbed his phone from the bedside stand and tossed it in the air to his brother. "Call Bobby. Maybe he knows someone in the area who can pinch hit. Preferably someone with a pick-up."

Sam nodded and hit the button of the speed dial. "Think he'll answer?" The last time they'd called, hoping to draw on the older hunter's expertise to help with Anna, the mechanic had been in the Dominican. He'd told Dean it was a job, but, seriously, the only spirits Dean had ever heard of in the Caribbean came in coconut mugs with little umbrellas in them.

"Hopefully," Dean responded with a one armed shrug. "If he can pull himself away from the banana hammock and umbrella drinks."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The plan went off without a hitch for the most part. Bobby called back with the names of two hunters he'd worked with in the past that were just over the border in Indiana who agreed to pitch in their muscle. Bobby assured them that the two men he sent could be trusted, which both brothers took with a grain of salt. They already knew Sam was a target from the faction of hunters that had listened to Gordon Walker's single-minded brand of crazy, and then there was the whole Steve Wandell thing. They only had the grizzled mechanic's assurance that he'd never heard any chatter indicating anybody had ever managed to put two and two together and come up with Winchester in Wandell's death.

And now, to top it off, they had a bonafide resurrection to explain. The hunter network was a tight one, they had come to realize, and once information was out, it traveled faster than the AP wire. The hope that these two particular hunters hadn't heard about Dean's vacation down under and subsequent renewal topside was quickly dashed when the older one, Cash, looked him up and down and shook his head, muttering "I'll be damned" as he hesitantly shook Dean's hand.

The two hunters were a peculiar pair, sort of a Mutt and Jeff duo. The younger hunter, who's name, ironically, was Jeff, had continued to stare at Dean with wide eyes, almost in a kind of hero worship. It was sort of amusing at first, but managed to become increasingly annoying to the elder Winchester as the evening wore on, causing Sam to run interference and suggest Dean stay outside to keep watch as the other three broke into the theater, bust the slab into smaller pieces with a sledgehammer and carry the large fragments safely to the truck.

Cash agreed to transport the slab to the salt spring, his head dipping in amused respect when presented with the plan. Dean, becoming quite uneasy with Jeff's constant scrutiny, had readily accepted the offer and stood beside his brother, breathing a sigh of relief as the pick-up's tail lights faded into the dark.

"Well that was creepy," Dean said with a shudder.

Sam gave a soft laugh. "You mean Jeff worshipping the ground you walked on?"

Dean nodded. "Tell me that wasn't just a little weird."

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "According to Cash, Jeff was raised Catholic. Still goes to church every Sunday despite what he's seen. When Bobby confirmed the rumor about the angels pulling you out of hell, he almost wet his pants volunteering to help."

"Another mental image I could've done without."

"Get used to it, Dean." Sam sighed. "Word of this angel thing is gonna spread and the hunters who don't see us as a threat and want to kill us are gonna see us as something else and…"

Dean turned to him, a measure of disbelief on his face. "And what? Vote me in as the next American Idol? No thanks."

Sam chuckled, appreciating his brother's attempt at levity. "I doubt if any of them are going to hand you a microphone, but you gotta admit, being pulled from the pit by an angel because 'God commanded it' is something you don't see everyday… or never."

Sam watched as the emotions played across his brother's face. He understood how hard it was for Dean to deal with what had happened. He'd never forget the tearful confession on the side of the road. Listening to Dean try to calmly explain what had happened to him in Hell, and what he'd been forced to do was one of the hardest things Sam had ever had to do in his life. He could only imagine how much harder it had been for Dean.

And despite how onerous the whole experience had been, Sam suspected that dealing with how he had gotten out was going to be just as difficult for the older man. Like Dean had confessed back at Bobby's, he didn't like being singled out at birthday parties… let alone by God. Sam couldn't even begin to imagine how much weight that extraordinary act had added to his brother's already overburdened shoulders, but if any one man was strong enough to bear that extra burden, it was Dean.

Sam just wished the rest of the world would stop adding to it.

"So," he started back to the Impala, slowing until his brother's step fell in rhythm beside him. "How long do you think?"

"A couple of hours," Dean replied. "Cash said they'd call as soon as the rock was buried."

Sam nodded, splitting off toward the driver's side as they approached the car. With Dean's arm still immobilized, Sam had insisted on doing the driving despite a weak, token protest from his brother. "You really think this will work?"

Dean paused as he opened the passenger door and looked across the top of the car. "It'll work, Sammy. And maybe those spirits will even be able to move on once they realize they're no longer bound to the theater."

"Maybe," Sam responded with a sad shrug. "I hope so." But he didn't really believe it.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

It was closer to four hours before Cash phoned Dean's cell and gave the all clear. Dean's pain relief had completely worn off by that time and the older hunter had nodded off, propped against a mound of pillows after self-medicating with three beers and a couple of pulls from the ever- present flask. Sam had tried not to show his concern, but had kept a watchful eye, sliding the flask from his brother's lax hand as his eyes dropped shut and his breathing began to even out.

With Dean out cold, Sam had been tempted to head back to the theater and run the EMF over the place just to confirm the ghosts had indeed been dealt with. He knew if Dean happened to wake up, the older man would be furious that he had gone out alone, so, in deference to not giving his brother anything new to get upset about – not to mention being within reach just in case one of the frequent nightmares took hold, Sam opted to wait, settling himself in for the rest of the night.

The next afternoon, Sam called Kim, offering to take her out for the cup of coffee that had been interrupted the previous evening. Even though she had to work until closing, she readily accepted, asking if Sam could meet her at the theater around 11:00 that evening. The date gave him an excuse he was looking for to run the EMF over the theater to confirm the ghosts were indeed gone, and, on the plus side, he got the chance to spend more time with the pretty college student.

"Dean," Sam argued for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You need to take it easy."

Ignoring the advice, Dean slid his jacket over the sling, pushing his good arm inside the sleeve and tugged the worn leather garment on.

"Dean," Sam sighed in exasperation. "Please. I can do this alone. Besides, the last thing I need is you horning in on my date… again."

The older man grinned, his eyebrows rising in challenge. "You sure, Sammy? Looked to me like you could use a few pointers."

Sam gave the remark the disdain it deserved. "Ha ha. Funny. If I didn't have to go running off to save your ass every ten minutes, maybe I could accomplish more than small talk."

"My ass is just fine, little brother." Dean responded. "And if you'd work faster than a constipated snail, you might actually be able to seal a deal or two. "

"I do just fine." Sam griped.

"With who? Ruby?"

Sam started, not appreciating his brother's insinuation. "It was only that one time, Dean. And I explained why --"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved a hand in apology. "I get it, Sammy. I already told you that. Just, I'm still trying to get that visual out of my head." The grin on his face softened the words, letting Sam know it wasn't really a critical jab at what had happened in the four months Sam had spent without him.

Sam dipped his head, snorting a soft laugh through his nose. "You really want to come?"

Dean gave him a look of alarm. "Hell no. You're a big boy, Sammy. You're on your own with Lacey."

"Then where are you going?"

Dean snagged the keys from his pocket and started for the door. "I'll drop you off at the theater. Then I'm going to find Gabe. I think he deserves to know what happened."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

Dean parked in front of theater, having taken back control of the driving despite Sam's protests, and climbed out of the car. Sam reluctantly led his brother into the building, feeling like a twelve-year old kid going to his first dance with his big brother as a chaperone. Of course, he did remember first hand what that actually felt like. It hadn't been so bad having Dean drive him and Mary Lynn Corbett to the 8th grade dance, but when Mary Lynn spent the entire ride watching Dean's every move with star filled eyes, and then preceded to talk about how lucky Sam was to have such a cool older brother for the rest of the evening, Sam vowed to never again accept his brother's offer of a ride if there was a girl involved. It had been years before he'd asked anyone else to go anywhere that wasn't within walking distance. It wasn't that he'd disagreed about Mary Lynn's assessment of his older brother, he just would rather have his dates like him for who he was – not who he was related to.

Dean had never even noticed the attention Sam's date had shown him. As far as he was concerned, it was just a little girl dumb enough to hang around with his geeky little brother, and Sam had never really blamed Dean for the slight. But, he'd felt the tang of jealousy and it had made him nauseous to feel that way toward Dean. So he'd vowed to never give a girl he was interested in the chance to dis him again. It just wasn't worth the aggravation.

Of course, Sam remembered Dean wearing the same smirk that was on his face right now, so maybe he had known what was happening all those years ago.

He'd professed a need to ask Kim if she knew Gabe's address, or, for that matter, last name so that he could look him up in the local directory, but Sam suspected his older brother simply didn't want him going into the theater alone just in case their plan hadn't worked. On one hand, it felt good that Dean still put Sam's safety first, but it was also kind of stifling that he still felt the need to watch out for him. Of course, Sam reminded himself, that was one of the things he'd missed the most in the four months Dean had been gone, having him show his concern in such a normal, 'Dean-like' way really wasn't too hard to bear.

He just wasn't about to let Dean know that.

Stepping through the doors, both brothers chanced a glance at the roped off memorial area to their right. There was a yellow police tape wound around the purple velvet ropes, cordoning off the area and obviously labeling it a crime scene, but there were no cops around and, they assumed, the tape was just a left over from an earlier investigation when the rock had been discovered gone.

"Maybe we should've found another rock to replace it," Dean whispered in a low voice.

Sam nodded in agreement. "I doubt if they're gonna call in the CSI guys over a missing slab of cement."

Dean pursed his lips, his eyebrows quirking as he tilted his head. "Even if they did, we didn't leave a trace. It was the perfect crime."

Sam rolled his eyes. He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and moved toward the concession stand, pointedly ignoring his brother's smug satisfaction.

"Hey, Sam," Kim waved as he approached.

"Hey," Sam responded with an innocent smile. He thrust a thumb back over his shoulder. "What's going on over there?"

Kim sighed, leaning her arms against the glass of the counter, a look of irritation marring her pretty face. "Some morons broke in and stole the memorial rock," she explained.

Sam was momentarily ashamed of the fact that even though the young woman had no idea of his part in the theft, that he was the one who was the target of her ire.

"Really?" Dean sidled up to the counter, glancing back toward the memorial. "That sucks. What kind of depraved scumbag would steal a memorial?"

Sam slowly turned toward his brother, his eyes wide, is best bitch face firmly in place.

Dean returned his stare with a smile before turning to beam at Kim. "Hey, I was wondering if you could tell me where Gabe lives? I really wanted to thank him for what he did for me the other day, but…" he shrugged , his expression self-deprecating. "After whacking my head, if he gave me his last name, I don't remember."

"Sure," Kim giggled. "His last name is Stafford. He lives in the house at the end of Buford Rd., about two blocks east. It's a big white house with a wrap around porch. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," Dean nodded to her and then turned and slapped Sam on the chest with the back of his hand. "I won't wait up," he stage whispered before heading across the lobby and out the exit.

Sam rolled his eyes, the act beginning to give him a headache before turning back to Kim. "Sorry. My brother sometimes has a problem with tact."

"It's okay, Sam," Kim responded coyly. "There's a good chance he may just be spending the night alone." She winked at him. "I just have to go make a final check of the auditorium. Be right back."

With a flirty smile, she ducked out from behind the concession counter and sauntered over to the theater doors, giving Sam a glance over her shoulder as she slipped into the quiet theater.

Sam took a deep breath through his nose and let it whoosh out his pursed lips. He smiled. Maybe his luck was changing.

Shaking himself from his musings, he reluctantly remembered the true reason for his presence in the theater. He pulled the EMF detector from his pocket and flipped it on, pointing it toward the roped off memorial site as he slowly crossed the small lobby. The device didn't let out a beep and Sam sighed in relief. He quickly moved the detector around the lobby, a small smile creeping onto his face as he realized his brother's off-the-cuff plan had actually worked.

The feeling of relief was cut short when Kim's piercing scream carried through the closed doors of the auditorium into the lobby. Sam broke into a run, long legs quickly carrying him across the room and through the ornate doors. The lights in the auditorium were dim, but Sam could make out Kim's form at the edge of the stage. She was standing near the curtains on the right side, backing slowly on shaking legs towards the center of the screen. Her hands were clasped over her mouth and her attention was frozen on something ahead of her, hidden from Sam's view behind the long red curtains.

Another loud screech dragged his attention to the device still in his hand and Sam quickly glanced at the EMF, his eyes going wide as he watched the red LED indicators light up in quick succession.

"Damnit!" he breathed through clenched teeth as he pocketed the device and hurried down the center aisle, coming up behind the frightened young woman. At his touch, she screamed again and jumped, turning frightened eyes on Sam that took more than a moment to fill with recognition.

"Oh my God!" she whispered. "I saw… I saw…"

Sam looked up past the top of her head and watched as the image of a young boy flickered in and out of focus. The kid was dressed in homespun pants held up by a simple rope belt and a plain pale blue shirt. His hair was slicked down and combed to the side and his eyes held a look of malice, his mouth turned up in an unfriendly grin.

Sam quickly stepped around the frightened girl, wishing like hell he'd thought to bring a shotgun with him. He had his revolver tucked into the back of his jeans, but the gun held real bullets which, he knew, would have no effect on the spirit before him.

He turned slightly, placing one hand on the girl's shoulder and the other under her chin, lifting her face up and effectively cutting off her view of the ghost. "Kim," he said in a slow, calm voice, his eyes holding hers, forcing her to listen to him. "I want you to go. Get to the lobby and get out of the building."

"But," Kim protested, trying to turn her head to search for the spirit, but Sam managed to tighten his hold on her chin and kept his gaze.

"Now, Kim. Go."

After a moment she nodded and as he released her, she took a few steps backwards before turning and running up the center aisle and out the auditorium doors.

Sam spun around, his eyes searching the dim area where the shadows of the room played behind the slowly fluttering curtain. The spirit was no longer visible, but Sam knew it was still present. The temperature in the auditorium was unnaturally chilled and he could see his breath as he exhaled. He cautiously stepped along the edge of the stage, the hairs on his arms prickling as he closed the distance.

"Hello?" he called. "I don't want to hurt you."

_As long as you don't want to hurt me._

He approached the side of the screen, releasing the tense hold of his shoulders as he realized the spirit was no longer there. Keeping one eye on the shadows, he quickly pulled out his cell and hit speed dial one, waiting as the device connected to his brother's phone.

"Yo," Dean's voice answered after two rings.

"Dean, we have a problem –" His words were cut off as he felt a rope wrap around his neck and pull tight. Dropping the phone, both hands grabbed for the rope, his panicked mind recognizing it as one of the gold brocade cords that hung alongside the red curtains all around the theater. As the rope tightened, he could feel his feet beginning to lose purchase on the floor. His vision began to swim, black spots forming as he struggled, fighting to take a breath.

"Sammy? Sammy!" He could hear his brother's frantic calls coming from the phone and closed his eyes against the pain he could hear in the familiar voice. "Sammy!"

"Dean!" he managed to croak out just as the rope tightened again and he felt his feet leave the floor.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Dean found Gabe's house easily, parking the Impala in the short drive and slowly shuffling up to the porch. The old man opened the door after a moment and invited Dean in with a smile.

"Don't get much company nowadays," he shrugged with an embarrassed grin as he led the young hunter into a sparse kitchen. He indicated for Dean to have a seat in one of the retro looking vinyl upholstered chairs pushed up to the matching formica table. He leaned into the small, white refrigerator in the corner of the room and pulled out two beers, offering one to Dean who nodded acceptance. The old man handed one of the bottles to Dean, watching in amusement as the young man popped the top off with the silver ring on his bound hand with a practiced ease.

"Not your first rodeo, huh?"

Dean laughed and held up the bottle with his good arm in a salute. "Hardly." He took a long drink, savoring the cool liquid as it slid down his throat.

Gabe took a seat in the other chair and leaned forward on the table, his eyes taking on a serious expression. "I take it this ain't just a social visit."

It was more of a statement than a question and Dean grinned, suddenly realizing why he liked the old man so much. Despite the lack of a trucker's hat and grizzled beard, Gabe reminded him of Bobby. The direct way he spoke and the earnestness in his eyes made Dean feel a little homesick, and he promised himself that he and Sam would take a little time and find out exactly what the older hunter was really doing down in the Dominican and maybe, if necessary, even offer to give him a hand. He'd only been back from Hell for a short time, and, since returning, he'd found that he had an inexplicable desire to keep those whom he considered family close by.

Bobby had been there for them the last few years – and he had tried to be there for Sam when he'd been in the Pit – and Dean was finding that the words he had spoken when trying to convince Bobby that he was really him upon his miraculous return from the dead were more than true. Bobby really was the closest thing he had to a father. In most respects, the mechanic was the polar opposite from John Winchester. He didn't judge, he didn't expect perfection. He simply expected for Dean to do what needed to be done and offered whatever help and encouragement necessary whenever he could.

Dean had loved his dad. Despite everything they'd gone through, despite the militaristic way John had raised his sons, Dean still felt a hole in inside him when he thought of his father being gone forever. But, re-connecting with Bobby had managed to fill a part of that emptiness. Dean knew the older hunter had probably known that both Winchester brothers were leaning on him to fill a John Winchester sized void they were both having a hard time accepting, but he never called them on it. In fact, he had made sure he was always available to them and did his best to give them whatever they needed.

The collection of liquor bottles scattered around Bobby's house had driven that point home.

… _these last four months ain't been all that easy…_

Dean swallowed another drink, choking a bit on the liquid… or the emotion.

He shook himself from his thoughts, bringing his eyes up to meet the expectant one's before him.

"The ghosts are gone."

Gabe watched him for a moment before nodding sadly and sitting back in the chair.

"How?"

Dean took a deep breath through his nose and cleared his throat softly. "Spirits sometimes tend to…latch on to objects. Things that meant something to them when they were alive."

Gabe nodded thoughfully. "Like an emotional anchor."

"Exactly," Dean nodded in return. "This… anchor… stops them from moving on to… wherever they were supposed to go. Once you destroy the anchor, the spirits move on." He knew he wasn't being completely honest as they hadn't really destroyed the rock, but it was gone and, he hoped, the spirits along with it. As long as they were no longer a threat, his job was over. Whether they would be trapped in this world or able to move on to whatever was next wasn't his call.

"And you and your brother were able to figure out what was holding them here?"

Dean licked his lips, his fingers playing with the edge of the label on the bottle. "It's usually something they were connected to when they died. Since they all burned in the fire, we figured that the only thing they could all still be latched onto was the piece of the old building in the memorial."

Gabe's eyes widened. "I heard someone broke in and stole it. The cops figure it was just some stupid prank."

Dean shrugged his good shoulder, his eyebrows rising in acceptance. "It had to be done," he offered. "People were getting hurt."

Gabe watched at him for a moment, finally sighing and slumping slightly in the chair. "I guess you're right. It's just… I guess I'll kind of miss them."

"I know," Dean said softly. He felt for the old man. He knew how hard it was to let go. "It really is for the best."

The two men sat in silence for a moment, each contemplating their own memories and regrets. The muffled sound of Deep Purple rang out from Dean's pocket, breaking the uneasy quiet and he quickly pulled his cell phone, frowning at his brother's name on the caller ID.

"Yo," he said into the device, his brows coming together, curious as to what his brother may have found that would cause him to call when he was supposed to be enjoying the company of a pretty girl in a lacey red bra.

"Dean, we have a problem –" Sam's voice cut off abruptly, a choked gasp ringing through the line followed by a loud thud that Dean recognized as the cell phone hitting the ground.

"Sammy? Sammy!" he jumped from the table, pressing the cell tighter to his ear as if he could get closer through the phone. "Sammy!" The only sounds he could hear were faint gasps as if someone – his brother most likely – was being strangled, struggling fro air. Knowing his brother's penchant for having that very act take place at regular intervals, Dean found himself flying out the door to the Impala, Gabe, despite his advanced age, right on his heels.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsn

"Sam!" Kim's voice penetrated his panic and he twisted at the end of the rope, spinning slightly toward her. He'd managed to get one hand partially under the rope, using the other to grip the cord above his head and pull to give enough slack to drag in a gasping breath. As he tried to focus on the girl's voice, he found her standing at the top of the auditorium, standing in the open doorway, one hand holding the heavy door open, the other splayed open in shock near her face.

"Salt!" he croaked, fighting to pull in another breath. "Get salt!"

Kim shook her head in confusion for a second before rushing from the doorway and back into the lobby. Before the heavy door was able to swing all the way closed, she was back through, scrambling down the side aisle with a large silver container. As soon as she was within range, Sam took a ragged breath and released the rope with his hand, grabbing the salt shaker from her hand and quickly flicking it up and behind him toward the rope.

The pressure against his throat suddenly disappeared and he fell to the floor, gasping as the pinch of the cord released from around his neck. He lay there for a few moments, eyes closed, gasping in precious oxygen through a raw and painful throat.

"Sam!"

He opened his eyes to see Kim's frightened ones hovering above him."

"I'm.." he coughed harshly, swallowing against what felt like razor blades inside his throat. "I'm fine," he managed to get out around another gasp. He held out a hand, and Kim pulled, helping him to a sitting position. He rubbed a hand across his neck, wincing at the welt he felt, knowing it would turn into one hell of a bruise by morning.

"Sammy!" He looked up toward the front of the theater, sighing as he watched his brother's frantic gaze lock with his. He couldn't stop the grin on his face as Dean raced down the aisle, skidding to a stop right by his side. The older hunter dropped the duffle he'd been carrying and leaned over his brother, assessing him carefully.

"I'm okay, Dean," he scratched out, another wince defying the claim.

"Yeah," Dean responded, his good arm reaching out and lifting Sam's head to get a better look at the mark left by the rope. "You sound just peachy, Vader."

Sam pushed his hand away and glared.

"What the hell happened?"

"Missed one," Sam whispered. "A kid."

"What's going on?"

Both hunters turned to Kim. The girl had been quietly sitting on Sam's other side, pulling back and hugging herself as soon as Dean had reached his brother.

"Uh…" Dean's eyes shifted from the girl to Sam, finally giving his brother a lopsided smirk. "You wanna take this one?"

Sam shook his head and pointed to his throat, contorting his face into an obviously exaggerated grimace of pain.

"Wuss," Dean accused before turning a patented smile on Kim. "We're not exactly who you thought we were, but you probably already figured that out, huh?"

Kim nodded slowly. "Who – or what – was that thing?" she asked, her eyes moving back to the shadows, as if expecting something to jump out at them any second.

"What exactly did you see?" Dean asked. He would rather rely on his brother for information, but, from the way Sam was rubbing his neck and the bruising he could see already appearing on the pale skin, Dean decided he could get the facts from the girl and save his brother a little pain for the time being.

Kim shrugged, pulling her arms tighter around herself. "I… I don't really…" She looked at Sam for a moment before turning wide eyes to Dean. "I saw a kid, a little boy. He was… weird, like he was wearing some old costume or something."

Dean was aware of Gabe's grunt of surprise behind him, but he kept his eyes on the girl. "Have you ever seen the boy before?"

Kim shook her head quickly. "No. Never."

Dean nodded and turned his attention back to Sam. "So it didn't work?"

Sam swallowed and winced and Dean held up a hand before he could speak. "Dude, yes or no. Just shake your head."

Sam nodded once, then shook his head.

"Yes, you understand or no it didn't work?"

Sam repeated both actions.

Dean dipped his head in frustration. "I can't even get a straight answer out of you when there are only two options," he sighed. "Okay, Sammy. Speak."

"The EMF was clear," Sam informed him in a rough but stable voice. "There was no activity until the boy's spirit showed up."

Dean sat back on his haunches and rubbed his good hand across the back of his neck. "So, what, we managed to get rid of all the ghosts but one?"

Sam shrugged, obviously not having an answer.

"Ghosts?" All three men turned toward Kim again.

Dean and Sam exchanged a surprised look before returning their attention to Kim. "Ghosts. The people on that plaque out there. You didn't know the place was haunted?"

Her laugh was tinged with a bit of panic. "Everybody's heard those rumors. But they're just rumors, right?"

She looked from one hunter to the other, her eyes widening as she read the seriousness on their faces. "You have got to be shitting me."

Dean grinned at her choice of words. "Afraid not, sweetheart."

Kim stared at him, her mouth open in shock before slowly tracking her eyes to Sam. "Sam?"

The younger man simply shrugged.

Kim shook her head. "This is not happening."

Gabe stepped forward and placed an arm on Kim's shoulder. "These boys know what they're talking about, honey. I've seen 'em. I think you have, too. Anybody who's been here as long as you have has had to have seen a few things that were a little strange."

Kim looked up at him, her eyes still impossibly wide. "Well, yeah, but… I thought it was just all in my head. You know, being here late and all the stories and stuff. I figured I was just letting my imagination get the better of me."

Gabe gave her a comforting smile. "Look at the bright side. At least you know you ain't crazy."

"Ghosts." Kim said more to herself that anyone else. "Go figure."

Dean snorted a laugh as the girl began to process the information and turned his attention to Gabe. "So, I'm assuming our slow learner is your buddy, Edward?"

Before Gabe could answer, Kim piped up again. "Edward? There was no Edward killed in that fire. The six names on the memorial plaque were the only ones who were found. There was no little boy and no one named Edward."

The hunters exchanged another look of confusion. "She's right," Sam croaked out. "There's no Edward mentioned."

"That's because nobody knew he was here." Gabe took a deep breath and dropped his hand from Kim's shoulder. "I was the only one who even knew he was living inside the theater," the old man explained. "They never even found his body, but, of course, they didn't know to look for it. I always figured it burned like the rest of them."

"So," Dean said slowly, his mind racing to put what they knew together with this new information. "They completely tore down and destroyed what was left of the building, so if there was a body left it would've been discovered. Since the kid wasn't included in the memorial, we have to assume it wasn't."

Sam nodded. "So maybe Edward wasn't connected to the memorial rock like the others."

"If Edward wasn't connected to the memorial rock, what the hell is he still doing here?"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "We don't even know if it was Edward."

Dean looked to Gabe, who nodded. "Was the boy dressed in old brown knickers and have dark hair parted on the side?"

Sam's eyes flicked to Kim who gave him a slight nod before turning back to Gabe. "Yeah, that sounds like who we saw."

Gabe gave Dean a grim smile. "That's Edward, I'm sure of it."

"So," Dean sighed. "We're right back to square one. We can't salt and burn his bones and we have no idea what's keeping him here."

"Maybe I do."

All eyes turned to Gabe as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his tarnished silver lighter. "You said spirits can latch onto anything that meant something to them in life?"

Dean nodded slowly, his eyes traveling from Gabe's sad expression to the old lighter.

"I always suspected Edward was responsible for that fire," he said, holding up the lighter in front of his face. "I never said anything 'cause he was my friend and I figured him dying in the blaze was his punishment for what he did. I figured he couldn't do no more harm." He reached out, dropping the lighter into Dean's outstretched hand. "I guess I was wrong." He nodded toward Dean's hand. "That was his. One of the few things he had. I found it in the rubble after the fire. Kept it to remind me of him."

"Uh, guys…" Kim took a step back, her eyes locked on a flickering shape in the shadows beyond the far curtain.

Dean transferred the lighter into his left hand held in the sling, reaching his right into the duffle he had abandoned near his brother's feet. He carefully pulled out a shotgun, then slowly stood, moving around Sam to stand in front of the small group. Hoisting the sawed off up with one arm, pointing the barrel at Edward's specter, he turned slightly and spoke in a low voice. "Sam, get them out of here."

The spirit watched them quietly, a menacing smile on it's flickering face.

"Dean," Sam's voice was still gravelly as he started to argue, but his brother's level tone cut him off.

"Sam, now. Get them out."

Sam hesitated a moment, knowing that having one arm immobilized made Dean more vulnerable, but finally realizing he was right. They needed to protect the civilians. That meant getting them to safety first, then he could help his brother. He nodded once and scrambled to his feet, ignoring the ache radiating from the muscles of his neck. He wrapped an arm around Kim's waist and pushed her behind him, indicating for her to move slowly backward and toward the other side of the theater. Once he felt her move, he grabbed for Gabe's arm, but the old man stepped forward before he could make contact.

"Edward?" Gabe watched the ghost with wide eyes. He took another halting step, holding out a hand as if to placate the spirit. "Edward, it's okay. These boys are here to help you."

Edward shifted his eyes from Dean to Gabe and back again, keeping his attention on the immediate threat. Suddenly, he flickered out of view, only to coalesce right in front of Dean. He swiped an arm, catching the older hunter off guard and tossing him backward into the rows of seats bordering the auditorium.

"Dean!" Sam watched as his brother hit the row of connected seats, bouncing off and down onto the floor. Quickly he dove forward, snatching up the shotgun from where it landed in the aisle. Without hesitation, he turned and squeezed off a shot, watching as the spirit dissipated as the salted round found it's mark.

As soon as the ghost disappeared, he rushed the few yards to where his brother hit, leaning into the space between the rows and laid a hand on Dean's chest. "Hey! You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay." Dean moaned. Sam could tell he was clutching his injured shoulder, fighting against the pain. "Think I fucked it up again."

"Maybe you should learn to land on the other one once in a while," Sam coughed, smiling in relief as he pulled his brother up and out of the rows of seats, depositing him on the floor of the aisle.

"I'll work on that," Dean threw him a glare. He turned back, reaching under a seat and pulling a small silver object from the sticky floor. "Think you can destroy this before Eddie Munster comes back?" He tossed the lighter to Sam who caught it in one hand, dropped it near his feet and brought the stock of the shotgun down on it in one smooth arc.

Sam looked down at him, a smirk on his face. "Anything else?"

Dean leaned back against the side of the seat and closed his eyes. "Yeah. Stop talking, Sammy. You sound like shit."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsn

"Those people who were hurt, it was my fault."

Sam exchanged a glance with his brother as they sat in Gabe's living room, watching what was left of the lighter burn down inside the old man's fireplace. They would still have to go back and sweep the theater with the EMF to make sure, but they'd felt the coldness lift from the auditorium as soon as they'd smashed the lighter and from experience, were pretty sure the whole ordeal was now over.

"No, Gabe," Dean said softly. "You didn't know." Dean's focus traveled back to the fire, the reflection of the flames dancing against his eyes in a way that made Sam cringe. He'd seen the flames of hell in his brother's eyes hundreds of times in his dreams while Dean was gone. He wrapped an arm around himself and fought against the shudder that threatened to rip through his body at the memory.

Gabe sighed, a sound so heartbreaking that Sam couldn't help but feel for the old man. He'd spent his life protecting a memory, only to have the memory become something he'd never expected. Edward's spirit had probably spent years just like the others, not really knowing he was dead, just floating through an existence without actual awareness of the passing of time. But, for some reason, Edward had turned angry. Maybe because he wasn't a part of the past like the others, or maybe, as Gabe had implied, because the fire itself had been his fault and he was acting out of an anger that was present long before his death.

Whatever the case, Gabe had taken the taken the whole situation hard, and Sam couldn't blame him.

"Where do they go?" Gabe asked after a few moments of silence. The old man sat in a overstuffed chair in front of the fire, leaving Sam to occupy a surprisingly comfortable rocking chair and Dean on the threadbare couch, a cold pack balanced against his injured shoulder. "I mean, I'm pretty close to taking that trip myself," he pointed out with a soft chuckle. "Be nice to know I'm gonna end up someplace better than this."

Dean took a deep breath and released it slowly, not shifting his gaze from the fireplace. "I don't know, man. I wish…" he cleared his throat and dipped his head, his eyes losing focus as he continued softly. "I wish I could give you something to set your mind at ease but…."

Sam watched his brother, wondering what exactly he was willing to reveal. He knew Dean would never let anyone outside of Sam and Bobby in on what he'd gone through, but he could tell his brother truly wanted to help the old man and was at a loss as to how to proceed.

"It's okay, kid." Gabe waved a hand in dismissal. "I know the man upstairs is watching out for me."

Gabe's voice held a kind of certainty that brought Dean's attention back to the present. "Yeah?"

The old man nodded, his eyes going from Dean to Sam, a slight frown appearing on his face when the younger hunter wouldn't meet his gaze.

Sam, for his part, kept his eyes on his brother. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dean was still tormented by what he'd been through. The torture alone had been enough to break anyone, but to be forced to do what he'd done… to have to live with that kind of guilt and pain, was more than anyone could possibly bear. And now, he had to deal with whatever the powers of Heaven expected of him without the grace of actually knowing what that was… how was anyone supposed to be able to function under such extreme circumstances?

Yet Dean did.

He not only carried on like the soldier he was trained to be, he'd managed to become even more… human. More in tune with the despair the people around him were feeling. He'd always taken other people's burdens on himself, making them his responsibility and therefore, his duty to resolve. And now, that responsibility had become an obligation, Dean's moral code demanding that he somehow make up for the pain he caused.

Sam didn't agree with his brother's assessment, but he couldn't dispute his need for atonement. Dean had been saved by a force he'd never truly believed in, forced into a mission he'd already considered his duty. If the angels had only known that Dean would've been their champion, even before he'd been thrown into the pit, maybe it would've saved a lot of pain for everyone.

"It's good you have something to believe in," Dean finally responded. His voice was still soft, but Sam could detect an edge of anger. They'd had to acknowledge that God and his angel army did exist, but Sam knew his brother still wasn't convinced their side of this war was entirely worth fighting for. "Not everyone has that kind of faith."

Sam snorted a soft laugh through his nose. Faith was something they were a little short on these days. He remembered something Dean said when they'd been faced with the possibility of angels before; that he believed in what he could see. Even now, when they'd actually come face to face with honest to goodness angels, Dean still didn't fully believe. He acknowledged the existence of Castiel and Uriel, even Anna… but whether they were truly what he perceived an angel of God to be was still up for discussion. They certainly weren't what Sam had been expecting. He doubted they even came close to what could command Dean's belief.

"I think God is watching," Gabe said. "He'll take care of us." He nodded as he spoke, his voice strong with conviction. "Despite what happened to those poor people, I still believe that if we put ourselves in His hands, He'll save us."

"From your mouth…" Sam barely heard the mumbled words from his brother. He truly was glad the old man was able to fall back on his faith like he himself used to be able to. Having peace of mind was something he envied. It was something he wished he could give to his brother.

But Sam knew that after everything Dean had been through, he was no closer to knowing the truth than Gabe was. Maybe it was because of what he'd seen that simple faith was out of his reach. Despite the fact that he had been saved, his salvation had come with a price and Sam suspected that price had something to do with him. He wasn't sure Dean would be able to pay it when it all came down. He wasn't sure either of them could.

They knew a lot more about what was coming than normal people, but did that make them any better equipped to handle it? Maybe Gabe and his blind faith in redemption was the one who was better off.

Sam just hoped like hell he was right.

The End.

_Author's Note: As always, this story is based on an actual legend. The Lincoln Theater does exist in Decatur, Illinois. The story is true, it burned down and was rebuilt on the site and is supposedly haunted. The Crenshaw house is also an actual place that is rumored to be haunted because of the shady dealings of the owner during the war. If you're ever in the area, check 'em out!_

_I hope I was able to respond to everyone who was kind enough to review, and for all those of you who read the story, I appreciate your interest and truly hope you enjoyed! I know we're all looking forward to the boy's return Thursday, so here's hoping for a ratings bonanza!!! See ya'll soon! Sue_


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